


2:34 PM, December 11th, 3017

by Iwritefanfictionnottragedies



Series: This Was Supposed To Be A Short One Shot [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: ANGST ANGST MOTHERFUCKERS, Angst, Becky is a Fucking Stalker and Needs to Go Die In A Hole, Crying, Cutting, Dark! Dean, Depressed Gabriel Novak, Depressed Sam Winchester, Depression, Everybody is Murderers, I Use The Word Sob Way Too Fucking Much, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Masquerade Ball Scene, No Fluff, SABRIEL IS MY LIFE BITCHES, Sad, Soulmate AU, Suicidal Thoughts, Times Written On Wrists, may be triggering, really fucking sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-17 00:07:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13065012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iwritefanfictionnottragedies/pseuds/Iwritefanfictionnottragedies
Summary: There is a story of two lovers – meant to be, written in the stars, but not in the kind that tell of true love, but instead true hatred.Meant to abhor each other, yet with such a fierce passion for love for the other.Now, this was unheard of in the country Abmerience. Lovers? That hated each other? Please. There was your soulmate, and there was your archenemy. Nobody else. Nobody that you hated and loved.Confused yet? Let’s elaborate.Every person had two times on their wrists.It didn’t matter where you lived, whether in Abmerience, or any other country like Haleious or Teliancembry, everyone had two times, and thatwas just a fact.Time 1.The first time, the one on everyone’s left wrist, was the time they would first see or meet their soulmate. For example – Dean Winchester’s was12:49 PM, September 19th, 3008. That’s when he met his best friend and love of his life – Castiel. Castiel Novak.Time 2.The second time, the one that was on your right wrist, was the time one would meet your archenemy. You know, the one person that you’ll detest with every fibre of your being. The one person that you’ll have to kill.





	2:34 PM, December 11th, 3017

**Author's Note:**

> hey hey i found out how to use this hellsite also what people gave me kudos the last time i posted something? hmm y'all must be crazy... ANYWAY follow my writing blog on tumblr (@i-writefanficnottragdies) and my personal blog (@fractured-boxofstars) because i love talking to people. enjoy this angst my lovely readers.

There is a story of two lovers – meant to be, written in the stars, but not in the kind that tell of true love, but instead true hatred.

Meant to abhor each other, yet with such a fierce passion for love for the other. 

Now, this was unheard of in the country Abmerience. Lovers? That hated each other? Please. There was your soulmate, and there was your archenemy. Nobody else. Nobody that you hated and loved.

Confused yet? Let’s elaborate.

Every person had two times on their wrists. 

It didn’t matter where you lived, whether in Abmerience, or any other country like Haleious or Teliancembry, everyone had two times, and that was just a fact. 

Time 1.  
The first time, the one on everyone’s left wrist, was the time they would first see or meet their soulmate. For example – Dean Winchester’s was 12:49 PM, September 19th, 3008. That’s when he met his best friend and love of his life – Castiel. Castiel Novak.

Time 2.  
The second time, the one that was on your right wrist, was the time one would meet your archenemy. You know, the one person that you’ll detest with every fibre of your being. The one person that you’ll have to kill.

I know what you’re thinking.

_KILL?_

Yeah. Kill. The beings of this new, evolved, world learned that they must murder their archenemy, or else they would end up dead. By the hands of, wait for it, their archenemy!

Blood pooling down the streets in a thick river was a horrifyingly common sight these days. Many just tutted, as the crimson liquid was dreadfully hard to clean out of clothes.

But, the thing is, the times on your right wrist could change.

Your soulmate got murdered? Most of the time, your right wrist would change to the time that you met your former lover’s archenemy.

Left wrist? That was always the same. Always. Once your love was gone, once your love was dead, you were broken. You were lost.

But in broken hearts, there’s always room for anger, there’s always room for murderous hatred.

Some idiots tried preaching against it. Within hours of them spreading their opinions such a topic their blood normally stained their signs that said “Peace is the Right Way!” or some shit like that.

No. Peace wasn’t the right way.

Humans, especially these evolved kinds, were murderers. Plain and simple.

Government was useless – too many people had those figures of power as their archenemy. Any leader that was appointed was usually killed within the first 24 hours.

Some people lived in fear. Didn’t go out, didn’t do anything, their terror of being murdered so great that they would sacrifice their happiness. Dean had always said that it brought a way new meaning to an old proverb – “YOLO”, or “you only live once”. Others did the most fool-hardy things, because they had only so little time until they were to be killed.

And then there were the sane, who tried to not kill anyone unless absolutely needed. They had caution, but they refused to let that keep them from living their lives. They didn’t stick out, and just kinda flowed with a crowd of people.

They normally were the ones that didn’t die in such a fucked up society.

Some had a list of times on their right wrist. It was odd, for sure, but not unheard of.

Dean Winchester was one of those people.

He had the lettering of times inked all the way up to his elbow, while his soulmate, Castiel, had none.

Yes, not having anyone written on your right wrist was also odd. But still yet not unheard of.

Castiel had _started out_ with one time on his wrist. Then Dean murdered them.

Everyone one that he had to hate was dead, due to his boyfriend with murderous tendencies. They lived blissfully on 6669 Sentience Dr., in an apartment that had a view of the ocean.

Now, Sam Winchester was a different story.

Sam knew he was different- _broken_ from a young age.

His wrists? They read the exact same time.

Exact.

His heart stopped whenever he learned what the times meant.

He couldn’t- he _couldn’t_ hate his lover. Sam wished he could be like his brother, with his simple one time written on his left wrist, and his many times on his right. Better be murderous in this world than broken.

Better be murderous than broken – that was his mantra. It was true, wasn’t it? Better be heartless than have nobody love you, right? Better be murderous than broken, Sam repeated in his head as he sat in his bedroom. The pale blue walls of his bedroom closed in over his head, and his ribs squeezed tightly around his heart. Better be murderous than broken.

Sam gasped out a sob, his back pressed against the wood floor of his room. _Please_ , he prayed to nobody in particular. Please just don’t let me be broken.

Fast forward a few years, to when he was 14. Sam was the smartest kid in his class, dubbed “Child Genius” by teachers, and “Nerd” by students. You know the story, as it’s repeated in every single telling of a high school. Nerd gets beaten up by Jock, yadda yadda yadda. It’s no different this time around – kids would push and shove the teen to the ground. Steal his lunch. Nothing absolutely horrible, just kind of inconveniencing.

Dean tried to get Sam to do something about it, always insisting whoever made that bruise, that scuff, that scar on Sam would get their “lungs ripped out”, but violence wasn’t condoned by the teachers. So Sam dealt with minor bullying, and Dean fumed silently. 

Now, in school, kids were supposed to not show each other their times, and would have thick, leather, bracelets wrapped around their wrists to hide the ink, because all the adults agreed that it was better have the kids wait for love than for them to be murderous.

Of course, some kids broke that rule, Dean being one of them. He found Castiel when he was 16, and was inseparable with the blue-eyed, black-haired, dork ever since. Besides. It was kind of hard to hide a list of times that trailed up his arm.

However, when Sam was 14, some kids cornered him in the school bathroom, ripping off his bracelet.

Sam could remember every detail from that sickening moment. The walls of the bathroom were supposed to be white, but some teen long ago took a sharpie and doodled across the white-tile walls. That was the start of a long line of graffiti on the once-white surface. Some drew animals, or flowers. Some wrote quotes. Some wrote rumors.

All the teachers knew was that the walls weren’t white, and that they didn’t give a damn.

When he was cornered that day, he was backed into a corner with his back pressing against the words “love yourself for who you are”, scribbled in silver sharpie. How _fucking_ ironic.

“Freak”, they called him after glimpsing his times. “Freak”, they insisted. “Freak”, they taunted. “Freak, freak, freak.”

And so “freak”, Sam believed.

The world was spinning and his head was aching and all Sam could do was sob in that hideous bathroom as he felt his world crumble to pieces.

The bathroom reeked of sweat and something like pea soup. The mirrors were fogged, dirty, disgusting. Nobody could see their face in the reflection. The floors were supposed to be white tile like the walls, but they were so dirty and worn from kids shoes that they didn’t look like they could have ever been white. And all in the middle of it was one 14-year-old freak that was too broken to live.

_Why him?_ Sam’s mind screamed. _Why did he have to be broken, why did he have to be a freak?_

The only sound was his ragged sobs.

The next week was pure torture for him.

Everybody whispered in the halls, glaring at him. He was tripped, shoved, punched, kicked, screamed at, and more. After hearing the rumors going around, the teachers didn’t do anything. They just watched.

He couldn’t take it. The next night (with Dean inquiring endlessly about the weeklong occurrence of his puffy eyes) Sam searched for something- anything sharp enough to cut through skin. He eventually found a Swiss Army Knife, which he drove through the ink on his wrists in the dark of his bedroom.

Sam screamed in pain, the blood dripping onto his toes, making them sticky and gross with the scarlet liquid. 

Dean couldn’t hear his little brother’s sounds of misery through his headphones blasting Metallica. Their dad couldn’t care.

He couldn’t continue cutting – it hurt too bad, but the deed was done. Nobody would be able to read the ink, nobody would be able to judge, nobody could call him a freak.

Finally, just in case, he pulled out a sticky note and wrote the time on it.

2:34 PM, December 11th, 3017.

He never forgot it.

On that fateful day, at that fateful time, Sam Winchester saw so many people for the first time, while exploring a convention for his favorite show, and he wanted sob in relief.

It wasn’t the same person.

He just saw multiple people at that time, and one would be his soulmate, and one would be his archenemy.

_It was okay. He wasn’t broken. He wasn’t a freak._

He was… normal.

And so, for the first time in what seemed like forever, Sam Winchester allowed a smile to brighten his face, because for the first time, he wasn’t a freak, he was a normal person.  
That was also the day and time he met his best friend, Gabriel Novak.

He was one of the people that Sam had glanced on the time of 2:34, and Sam was instantly enamored by the sight of the brunet. Their eyes met- gold against hazel, and Sam felt his heart swoop out of its confines and leap into the air.

He just _had_ to take a step towards him, and with that sense of pure longing came a rush of excitement. Was this it? Was this what it felt like to be normal? Was this what love felt like? There were so many questions racing through his head at the moment, and Sam was just giddy with delight.

That was, until he noticed a certain brown-haired girl squealing and running towards him in his direction. Becky. _Shitshitshitshitshit._

He had met her in the middle of his 3rd year of college, 3 years ago. To the day. She had taken one look at him and lit up.

_“That’s him!” A female voice screeched across the courtyard, turning heads left and right. Sam himself turned to see who was yelling. It was a tiny brunette with narrowed eyes. She was wearing the oddest clothes that Sam had ever seen – a tee-shirt with a multicolored vest, a jean skirt, and a pair of leggings with each leg sporting a different design._

_The girl ran towards him, grinning so widely that Sam was worried for the structure of her skin. “It’s you… You’re my soulmate!” She stuck out her hand, heaving for breath. “I’m Becky. What’s your name, gorgeous?” Becky managed out between gasps for air._

_“S-sam. But I’m not your soulmate, Becky. My time isn’t right now.” He mumbled, trying to scoot away from her. “Oh really?” She put her hands on her hips, raising an eyebrow. “Prove it.”_

_Then, before he could think, her fingers snaked around his wrist, squeezing it towards her. “See! You probably don’t even remember the time, because they’re both slashed out. I told you!” Becky declared loudly, causing everyone in a twenty-foot-perimeter to hear. Sam quickly yanked his arm away, glaring at the smaller female. “I do remember my times, and I’d really freaking appreciate if you would get away from me!” He growled, furious that his classmates now knew part of his secret._

_Becky only giggled. “Feisty, aren’t you?” She latched her arm around his. “Oooh, we are going to get along so well.” Sam jerked his arm out of hers, and ran away, with the brunette following and yelling about how he would realize their true love eventually._

The next few months, she refused to leave him alone. Sam switched dorms multiple times after her finding the previous room and attempting to come in when he was sleeping. Asking for a restraining order was out of the question in a world without government or a judicial system.

The last time he saw Becky was a few months back, when he was walking home from dinner. The female came out of nowhere, jumped on top of him, and basically choked him while trying to force him to give her a piggy back ride. The lack of breath nearly rendered him unconscious, and caused him great anxiety after that. He never went out alone again.

To put it simply, Sam was fucking terrified of the girl.

So whenever he saw Becky barreling towards him, Sam ran. He ran in any direction possible, just to be away from that bitch. However, “anywhere” meant into people. And by people meant him.

“-uh…. Uh…. Um… Hi?” Sam stammered, bumping into the brown-haired man. “What?” He turned around just at the wrong moment, and Sam fell on top of him.

The taller male glanced into the other’s golden eyes, his breath being stolen away. He was even prettier up close, with a light spray of freckles dancing off tan skin and pink lips that looked oh-so-soft and utterly kissable. His face, framed with brown curls, and his eyes were liquid gold lidded with the longest eyelashes Sam had ever seen. In fact, if he got any closer, they’d probably brush against his cheeks and-

“Can- can you get off me now?”

“Sorry-I’m… I’m so sorry!” Sam scrambled up, his face bright. “No problem, kiddo.” The man smirked, dusting himself off. “So. What has you in such a tizzy?”

Sam tried to form a reasonable explanation, he did. But then Becky noticed him once again and ran over, causing him to basically launch onto the closest thing possible. Which, of course, was the gorgeous man that had Sam head over heels.

“Becky!” He managed out, pointing a shaking finger.

The golden-eyed male staggered with the gigantic 23-year-old clasping onto him for dear life. “Beck- ohhhhhh…” He trailed off, following Sam’s direction.

“Hi, Sammy! Did you miss me?”

The brunette came sickeningly close to the two males, almost purring with delight. “Who’s your friend there? He’s a cutey, but you know I’ve only got eyes for you, _darling_.” The innuendo and pleasure dripping off that last word made the two men shiver in disgust.

“Please get away from me…” Sam clutched to the smaller male tighter. “You know, Sammy, I love when you play hard to get!” Becky cooed.

After taking a quick second to evaluate the situation, the smaller male turned to Becky. “Um, well, Becky, I do believe that Sammy here-“ Sam cut him off swiftly, uttering “Sam. My name is Sam.”

“Right. That Sam here asked you to go away. And whenever you don’t do that, that’s called harassment. So I would suggest you leave him alone, unless he’s like your archenemy or something. Then like…” He turned to Sam. “Sorry dude, if she’s your archenemy, I’m leaving you, ‘cuz I don’t really want to die today.”

“We aren’t archenemies! We are a match made in heaven.” Becky insisted. “Besides. Men can’t be harassed! Only women can. It’s obvious, dumbo.” She rolled her eyes, acting like the shit that came out of her mouth wasn’t shit and was actually reasonable words.

“Firstly. Men can be harassed, and you’re living proof of that, bitch. Secondly. I don’t think Sam here really likes you enough to be his soulmate. So leave him alone, please.”

Becky mumbled something like “douchebag” and “mansplaining” but stalked off, occasionally turning her head back to glare at Sam’s savior.

Sam let out a sigh of relief, and released his the smaller male, his heart beating considerably slower.

“I am so sorry about that. She follows me constantly, determined that we are soulmates. We aren’t, I know that for sure.” Sam apologized. “No problem.” The shorter man stuck out his hand. “My name is Gabriel Novak.”

“Novak? Like, do you know Castiel Novak?” Sam questioned, shaking his hand. “Cassie? Yeah, I know that dork. We’re related, but like, very distantly. He’s a cool dude though. Heard he found his soulmate back a long time ago. Dean Winner was it? Windchetter?” Gabriel mused.

“Winchester?” Sam offered. Gabriel snapped his fingers at the taller male. “That’s the one! Why, you know him or something?” Sam snorted in response. “Sam Winchester, nice to meet you.”

And that was it, that was how their friendship formed and bloomed – over one crazy stalker.

They started hanging out more after that, and eventually moved in together.

And Sam’s life just flourished.

Everything was wonderful, because he was with his possible-soulmate, and he had the perfect job and the perfect apartment and the perfect clothes and the perfect life.

He was perfectly happy, and so was Gabriel.

But of course, _of course_ , he had to fuck that up.

Because he was Sam- _fucking_ -Winchester, who was fucking broken and always had been broken. He was a freak, and he was an idiot for thinking he could be anything else.

It had started out with a simple question one day in January. They had spent the day lounging on the living room couch, fiddling with console and bickering about video games, although Sam really didn’t care about the game but instead the man next to him.

So he asked a rather personal question, not considering the consequences.

“Why do you still wear your leather bracelet?”

It was harmless, really. And honestly? Gabriel trusted him enough to tell him why. Gabriel _trusted him_ and _believed in him._

“Sam… Okay… Well, look. There’s something about me that you should know. And, please realize this is hard to tell, okay?” Gabriel slowly unwrapped his wrists, revealing the ink beneath it.

2:34 PM, December 11th, 3017.

Both wrists.

Both. Fucking. Wrists.

Sam felt the breath constrict in his throat as his friend held up his arms. Gabriel stood there, his eyes pleading for acceptance, begging for a promise that he wasn’t something that Sam had felt like his entire life.

Gabriel wanted to know he wasn’t a freak, wasn’t broken, but of course Sam couldn’t convince him that. He should of just said something like “Me too” or some pathetic shit like that.

But no, his mouth refused to correlate with his brain, and the word “F-freak” tumbled out.

Fucking idiot.

Fucking _idiot!_

Gabriel’s eyes widened in shock, hurt flashing across his normally joyful face.

“G-go.” He mumbled, a tear slipping down his face.

“Gabe- wait- That’s not what I-” Sam protested, but Gabriel cut him off, shoving him against the door of their apartment.

“Sam, I trusted you. I trusted you enough to tell you this, and you know what you do? You tell me I’m a freak.”

“I’m-”

“You’re what. Sorry?” Gabe’s voice was harsh, mocking. “No. You aren’t. You’re just like the rest of them, believing that I’m a freak, I’m an abomination. That I don’t deserve to _live_.” He spat, and the man from this morning was gone, the man from the past year was gone, the man from the convention was lost to this new creation of bitter, broken, anger.

“That’s not what I-” Sam’s words fell on deaf ears.

“I said go. And if I fucking see you again, I’ll put a bullet in your brain.” Gabriel twisted the doorknob, and with one final push Sam fell out the entrance, his mouth moving but his words not working.

“GO!” Gabe screamed, tears flooding down his face. “GO, YOU WORTHLESS, HEARTLESS, DICK!” He shook his head mournfully. “And to think I used to like you… you’re not worthy of love, Sam Winchester.”

The door was slammed in his face, leaving both men broken-hearted.

A few hours later, in his rented apartment, Sam sunk to the floor, sobbing. Guilt writhed in his stomach, flowering and blooming and festering. That guilt turned into sadness and pure, sheer hatred.

He was right, Sam thought numbly. He wasn’t worthy of love. He never would be.

Gabriel didn’t even know that Sam was like him.

Sam turned his eyes down the scars on his wrists, and he tore at them. He screamed until he couldn’t breathe, trying to bleed his wrists out of enough blood to kill him, but it didn’t work, because they refused to bleed.

Little did he know, across town, Gabriel was doing the same thing.

“Freak”, Sam had said. And it was true, it was all true.

Denying such a thing was truly unfair to himself, denying such a thing was just giving some false hope that wouldn’t get him anywhere in his life.

The two choked out sobs, each a vision of pain, wondering why they were made broken.

And when morning came, each swore to kill the other for reminding them what they really were – a freak. Someone that was so utterly broken that they couldn’t be loved. Only hated.

20 years later, Sam Winchester stood in front of a mirror, humming as he fiddled with his tie. It was the first time that he had smiled since that night, it was the first time that he felt emotion since that fucking night.

Gabriel Novak was the owner of a major corporation, just like Sam. They ran opposing companies, enemies thick and thin, and tonight, Sam would see Gabriel for the first time in 20 years.

There was a masquerade gala that he had to attend, and his former friend would be there as well.

He had spent the entire morning finding the perfect outfit for that gala, finally deciding on a deep emerald suit with a black lace mask. He needed to look his best.

It’s not every day that you die.

At the gala, Sam stood in the corner. This was no different behavior than normal, due to his lack of social skills when dressed in a suit. Anyone that asked him to dance was politely declined, no matter how large their bust.

Females fawned over him, their flesh being tightly packed into lace dresses that stretched and pulled at their bodies. Sam pitied them. They didn’t deserve to be stuffed into a fabric cage, primped and powdered, just to be introduced to someone who doesn’t even like them.

It really was too bad that women weren’t his type.

Finally, a brunet man casually strolled up to him, smirking. He wore a lace and burgundy suit, and his black and golden mask covered the entirety of his face except for his golden eyes, and his hair curled around the mask, framing the porcelain with soft curls.

Sam didn’t need anything else to tell the identity of the masked man.

The suit fit every curve, defined every muscle of the man, and Sam would be lying if he didn’t want to tear it off, piece by piece, and kiss every inch of the skin beneath.

The mask, however, he wasn’t a fan of. It was beautifully made, that was true, but it concealed the flurry of freckles fluttering across the man’s cheeks and nose that Sam loved so dearly.

“May I have this dance?”

Sam mirrored the grin that was on the other’s face.

“Why, of course.”

They twirled around the dance floor, keeping a steady pace. The man was swift with his feet, a wonderful dancer, and soon enough Sam found himself dancing one song after another with him. He was caught in a daze of lilting tunes and delicate steps, wishing that it could go on forever.

However, all good things must end eventually. When the masked man finally bowed and stepped aside to let others dance with Sam, he couldn’t deny the disappointment stabbing through his brain.

Just before he left, he whispered a message in Sam’s ear, the cold porcelain of the mask brushing against the other’s skin.

“Meet me on the roof at 9 PM sharp. Don’t be late, _Sammy_.”

Sam got chills down his spine as he watched the man slink away into the crowd.

“I won’t.” He murmured, a smile tracing his lips.

As soon as the clock turned to 8:59 PM, Sam disappeared, climbing the stairs to the roof.

9:00 PM, sharp, he was there. Just as promised. He always believed in being punctual, anyway.

“Hello, Sam.” Gabriel stood waiting on the roof, a dangerous glimmer in his eyes. His mask was carelessly tossed aside, revealing the true, beautiful, features that Sam had once loved.

Scratch that, he never stopped loving those gorgeously golden eyes.

“You really shouldn’t have come to this gala tonight.” Gabriel reprimanded, taking a step closer to Sam. His hand crept into his pocket, where a gun most likely rested.

“Aw, why not, Gabriel? I mean, I got to see you again… I think that’s worth it.” Sam bit cheekily.

“Well, I do believe that the last time that we were together I made a certain promise, which I intend to fulfill tonight.” Gabe pulled out the expected weapon – a gun, and he sauntered closer to Sam.

“Sam Winchester, you are going to die tonight.” Gabriel aimed it at the taller male’s chest.

Sam should have felt fear, or anger, or _something_ other than the goddamn swell of love that burst in his chest. But he didn’t. Love for the man standing 3 steps away from him coursed through his veins, and Sam decided on his final move before he died.

“Better come clean then, shouldn’t I?”

Sam took the final three steps, and uttered the last words he would ever say.

“Gabriel Novak, I love you.”

But he never heard the other’s response, as it was too late for him.

The bullet was already in in the air when he said those words, the sound of a gun being the last thing he heard.

And this time, he did bleed, the crimson liquid staining the concrete roof beneath their feet.

The gun was tossed aside, and Gabriel caught his love in his arms, falling to his knees as the effects of his actions hit him.

“No- no- nonononono… what- what have I done?”

The smaller man’s body trembled with gentle sobs as he cradled Sam close, pleading for him to open his eyes, begging for forgiveness.

“Sam-no- this- no- I’m sorry- I love- I loved you- Sam, _I’m sorry_ …”

But the deed was done, and just as Gabriel had previously foretold, Sam Winchester was dead that night.

“-please-“

Gabriel grabbed Sam’s hair, threading his fingers through it and desperately kissing his hair, his face, his lips, as if that would alter the current events.

A trickle of blood dripped from the larger man’s mouth.

“Sam-”

Something wet dripped onto Gabriel’s head – rain.

The rain mixed with the tears on his face, pouring down his suit. He couldn’t care less about the expensive fabric, not now, not when Sam was-

Gone...

Gabriel grabbed his hand, squeezing it tight before feeling the scarred skin on his wrist. He pulled Sam’s wrists into his view, tracing his fingers over the scars that marred the flesh, and somehow, the flesh began to heal, pale skin covering what once was red.

As it healed, Gabriel was able to see the times, well, time on Sam’s wrists.

2:34 PM, December 11th, 3017.

The rain began to start washing away Sam’s blood.

**Author's Note:**

> nvm i have no fucking idea how to use this site
> 
> can somebody pls get me a tutorial or something i'm dying here  
> do i really have to do the p thing whenever i want a new paragraph, and /p thing to end it? ughhhhhhhh  
> i didn't have to do that last time...
> 
> please help me so i don't die of frustration


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